A Quickening of the Heart
by brensgrrl
Summary: The visions of a Seer lead first to intrigue, then to romance. . . AU add on story posted at adultffnet. Write me with age info for access.
1. Default Chapter

Quickening of the Heart by brensgrrl 4/5/2004

Warning: Rated MA+ (17 Years of Age and over--Mature Situations;  
Slash (Severus/Ron)

Third in the series of stories begun with A New Country--

This is the Night Mail crossing the Border,  
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,  
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,  
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.  
And none will hear the postman's knock Without a quickening of the heart.  
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

-- "Night Mail" by W. H. Auden

It was, after all, the traditional habitation of the House most likely to produce reprobates and tyrants; a dwelling place of the miserable, the cruel and the amoral; the home of the school bullies; the current abode of the most hated teacher. 

In short, the absolute domicile of everything sinister.

So it was proverbial that the dungeons were always dank, cold, cheerless and immersed in merciless gloom, and that the people down there preferred it that way. 

But nothing is ever absolute. 

Salazar, for one, had not been at all fond of the cold and dark. Nor had be enjoyed living in a place where one couldn't tell day from night. It was he who placed the original diurnal charms and it was he who created the sumptuary wards that governed them.

Nevertheless, the current Head of House activated the enchantments only rarely and never during school term.

Slytherin, after all, did have a reputation to keep up. 

So it was with the utterance of a brief incantation that bright daylight tumbled from above to cascade through the empty classroom, its intensity stripping the murkiest corners bare. In the light, it was evident that the ancient oak bookcases and shelves of ingredients and compounds had been tidied and cleared of dust, and the freshly washed floor was shining, the moist flagstones giving off a rich earthy smell. All of the room's benches had been pushed aside into a corner and row upon row of student worktables stood like battered soldiers, their worn and rutted tops glistening with cleaning solution that gave off grey wisps of steam as it neutralised the last of the year's spilled brews.

After all, it was impossible to properly clean anything in the dark. And cleanliness had to be an absolute rule if cross-contamination was to be avoided. 

The soft tapping of bootheels on the stone floor echoed off the walls as a solitary figure made for the storage cabinet with the last of the student glassware. 

Finally, some peace and quiet, he thought. 

The last of the benighted brats was betrained and gone, and another summer holiday season was finally underway. The little horrors were off to spread panic and fear in the places that they were from, and for the first time in years no students were boarding over for summer. There would be blessed calm in the hallowed halls for a few all-too-short months. Nothing was more welcome than that, especially after such a trying term. 

Of course, the school year had brought the usual spate of hormonally-induced acting-out behaviours, schoolgirl crushes, exploding cauldrons, destroyed robes, misdirected hexes and night-crawling miscreants; but the single most vexing challenge he'd been forced to confront was the Weasley issue. 

Yes. 

It was, indeed, Weasley's issue--not his.

He placed the equipment on a top shelf and glanced up to see if the cleansing process on the desks was completed. Most were still steaming, issuing forth errant little puffs of water vapor as the purifying process continued. They would soon be safe to touch with bare hands, though, and so he removed the leather gloves and apothecary's apron that he had donned as protection against the caustic cleaning substance.

He stowed the apron and gloves and went over to the instructor's podium. There, he removed a thin silver case from a drawer and took out a cigarette. His lips quirked when he considered how far he had come (if one could call it progress)  
from the crudely rolled joints Lucius had taught him to make to the DeDampkring product he now held. He tapped the fag against its case for a moment, pausing to think that Albus would not find his little habit the least bit amusing, but what the hell anyway. He rarely indulged during the school year and it had been one hell of a term. He was entitled. He summoned a small fire, lit up and took a long slow drag.

As he waited for the first lazy, mellow haze to hit, his mind drifted back to that one specific event of the past year. 

Oddly enough, upon recall of the Yuletide incident, he now realized that he had somehow seen it coming. For at least a month prior to the strange episode, he had been feeling the sort of sharp mental prickles that seem to warn one that something important was going to happen. 

--He breathed out and took another toke, as the acrid smell of cannabis drifted out into the room. --

At the time, he didn't know whether the anticipated thing would be good or bad; but based on past experience, he had expected that he would once again be on the receiving end of some dire circumstance or other. The events of his life had taught him the most painful lesson of all; namely, that catastrophe could strike from myriad directions and in diverse ways. After all, the nature of the universe, and of his life, seemed to tend toward entropy.

And, he supposed, a slip toward disorder was exactly what happened.

In a moment of blind faith and idiocy his world had turned upside down as he allowed himself to be caught up in the emotional notion that there could be something between himself and the boy; he had even allowed a kiss. 

Allowed, nothing. The boy took that kiss. Took it as if he was entitled to it . . . and at the last, I wanted him to-. . .

The remembered sensation of how the boy's mouth flowered open against his, the taste, the enveloping perfection of that moment, still made him shudder.

Right after the Christmas feast, however, he had salvaged the remains of his commonsense and had gone to the Headmaster.

He had been fully prepared to resign his teaching post right then, but Dumbledore only sat there blank-faced as he confessed his blunder. Afterward, instead of being reprimanded, he had been plied with cinnamon tea as the entire conversation was diverted to the topic of Weasley. All talk of his quitting had been ignored. The old man had banged on as to how surprising it was that Weasley had turned out to be a true Seer, and how Weasley had grown into such a fine young man, and how the Weasleys in general were an old and honourable family; all while gazing at him with that damnable twinkle. It had seemed as if Albus were playing the matchmaker in this. Finally, the Headmaster had simply smiled brightly at his protestations and dismissed him with a 'Happy Christmas,' and a wave, and a reminder that he was to be the warden of that ludicrous 'first-  
foot' custom again.

--He took a third pull and put the smouldering cigarette down in a mortar that was sitting on the side of the desk, his eyes lingering on the rising smoke. --

So, he had been left up to his own devices to settle the Weasley issue.

Settle. What a joke that had become, he thought as he leaned back against the podium and stared out into the classroom.

Weasley's self-assured manner that night had made it quite plain that the gift of foresight had ended any revulsion or residual apprehension. To fall back on the proven tactics of bitter recriminations and sarcastic insults would have accomplished nothing. Weasley would have let him have the rant out and then ignore everything he said. He had found this the most unsettling thing of all because the brief contact they shared did leave him with a pretty good idea of what Weasley had seen that would have triggered such a paradigm shift. He also considered the resolute way in which the young man had taken control of the situation, all but telling him to 'belt up,' however gently, while leading him into the fateful kiss. 

It was this consideration that had made him incapable of even looking at the boy without wondering about the ideas burgeoning beneath that shock of ginger hair.

And I gave in to that temptation, to his persuasion. What was I thinking? Where was my control? 

The net result was that he had been thrown into a state of emotional turmoil resembling something like a full-scale war; the rational part of him actively fighting the notion that the boy might have been thinking fervently of him,  
not wanting to even know what Weasley was imagining, while the little -  
something- within the center of him actually championed the hope that Weasley was harboring ardent designs. He had found his every errant thought increasingly pervaded with fantasies of what such designs might entail. 

The rational side, though, won out. 

First and foremost of all, he had reminded himself that he was the boy's teacher.

Then he allowed his automatic aversion to emotional attachment to take full sway and had so determined to avoid the young man whenever possible, limiting all interactions, even within the Potions classroom. 

At first, there were a few times when he would look up from the stack of papers and open books on the instructor's pulpit to find the boy looking back at him in that open-faced Weasley-way, with an admixture of dejection and doubt on his face. It was those times that he had to work doubly hard to squelch the little voice within that kept insisting that he hold the boy after class for a little 'talk.'

He stuck with his plan to discourage further fraternization, though, and the boy seemed to have gotten the message and understood that further dealings of an intimate nature were not desired. His work during the term had been superior and it had not been necessary to bestow any detentions. There had been no doe-eyed glances in the classroom, no awkward efforts at flirtation, no attempts at amorous ambush in the corridors, no furtive midnight visits or pleas for admission to his rooms. 

Even amid the mawkish sentimental displays exhibited by the seventh-years at the Leaving Feast, Weasley had made no attempt at further contact. 

Which was a good thing. All for the best, and all that sort of thing.

Why then did this continue to worry him?

Without a single backward glance, the young man had left on the train with the rest of the students. Weasley wouldn't be back; he was leaving the country for specialized Auror training.

Once again, the rational part of him honestly hoped that Weasley would be distracted by someone his own age. 

But his spirit unmistakably mourned a loss.

The boy didn't even grant me the courtesy of a simple 'good-bye'. 

Within minutes of Weasley's exit Snape had found himself standing outside on a hillock overlooking Hogsmeade, watching the departing train with a discomfort bordering on physical pain, seized with the sudden and desperate notion that he should apparate to King's Cross. 

It only took a few minutes for reason to trample that absurd impulse into the dust. What would the boy's friends and family think, seeing him waiting on the station platform? 

It was really quite a foolish notion, indeed, to ever imagine deserving the fancy of any other person, much less anyone like Ronald Weasley. After all, what could he offer? Nothing at all. 

Nothing, especially, to give to one who is becoming an Auror. 

He sighed, and lifted the cigarette to his lips once again.

Perhaps, this year, I'll go to Venice. Yes. A change of scenes would do a world of good. A season among the fleshpots of Europe will take my mind off all of this. . .

At the moment, though, he needed a mental reset and work was a ready cure for woolgathering. Smoking the junk wasn't helping matters either. 

So he decided to busy his mind with a review of the syllabus for the upcoming term and the preparation of an inventory list of supplies that would need to be purchased. 

He crushed the butt out in the mortar and left the classroom for his office.

After taking a scroll of parchment and his dicto-quill from a side drawer, he opened his lesson plan and his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and reached for Moste Potente Potions. The book was missing. He looked up, scrutinizing the bookshelves and then the room itself, searching for the book. He finally located the tome, which was sitting atop one of the stacks beside an armchair. 

With another windy sigh, he crossed the room and snatched the book from the pile.

A parchment which had been underneath the book fluttered to the floor and he reflexively scooped it up. It was a note written in a familiar crabbed script. 

5th June 1998

Dear Professor:

Do you know what this is? It's an anniversary letter; sort of,  
I suppose. Anyway, it's been pretty close to a year since I started thinking of you as someone other than my Potions teacher. I have so very many things to say to you, none of them the word 'goodbye.' I was going to speak to you directly last night, but my courage failed.

Funny that, courage failure in a Gryffindor; and one who is going off to become an Auror, of all things. You may call me a coward if you want. I don't mind, really, because it is true. At least, about this sort of thing I am. Actually I've been a coward about this for months. Strange that it was easier for me to approach you last Christmas with my dreams than now with this letter. Maybe what I am most afraid of is that you will try to talk me out of this. I don't want to be talked out of it. What I do fancy is another kiss.

All right. That last bit was uncalled for. But I just couldn't help saying it.

For months, you have refused to speak to me or even admit this thing between us. Sometimes I even think that you have started hating me again. My visions tell me otherwise, though. 

You are right. We are as different as night and day. I do understand your reasons for doubting what I told you. I am twenty years younger than you. We did spend the better part of seven years not really liking each other. There are lots of things you don't know about me and lots of things that you think I don't know about you. And you still think that I have some growing up yet to do. I can accept all of this. I am willing to give this 'something' between us time. I just want you to give it some time too. Time will prove that I am right. Please don't ever feel that my being apart from you will make me grow distant from you. Please don't forget what I told you. What I mean is, I know we must be separate to be sure about things-to try and find some insight on all of this-but I still hope we can communicate. Please write to me so we can get to know each other better. I know that the one thing we do have is time.

Well, I know that you are probably very busy right now. I have to go anyway. I have to pack up everything. Then there's the morning train to take, and then another train, and then a portkey to Melbourne. Letters can be sent to me care of the MoM/Law Enforcement Office. We have been assured of security, but you may use obscuring charms if that makes you feel better. Please owl as often as you can. I miss you already. 

Yours very truly,  
Ron

He slumped into the armchair, the potions text forgotten, his heart thundering in his chest. So the boy had decided not to let matters rest peacefully between them. He read the letter a second time, and wrestled with a renewed desire to go and meet Weasley's train, his friends and relatives be damned. After all,  
the young man wasn't a student or a child any longer.

Again, his mind reeled back to that evening in this very office, back to the moment when the young man had knelt before him and linked their hands together. Tendrils of familiar longing laced through him, and despite all, he felt his lips curl into a smile, some of his long-denied disappointment lifting. The boy was indeed daring and witty all in one; he had somehow slipped past the wards to get into the office and leave this note. Moreover, the boy had had the bravado to propose that they begin a courtship. 

And once again, he found his mind and heart-yes heart resuming the battle over what he should do about this new development.

This time, his heart won. 

How very strange that something that only happened for just a few short minutes could turn into a defining landmark of one's life, a delineating point marking a 'before' and 'after'  
'Before,' he'd been the least liked teacher at Hogwarts; 'after,' the object of a young man's fancy.

And he did, strangely enough, feel as if he could easily fancy the young man in question.

"Damnable child," he murmured as he rose and walked back to his writing table. He dropped the textbook onto a corner of the desk and sat for a few moments, thoughtfully smoothing the little note flat with both hands. Then he cut a foot of parchment from the scroll that he had intended to use for the inventory list and took up his eagle-feather quill. 

6th June 1998

Mr Weasley:

Just when I have determined myself free from interfering brats for another summer, I stumble across proof that one of them has been trespassing in my office. Despite having attained chronological adulthood, you remain as childishly Gryffindor as ever. It is too bad that I cannot take points for your impudence. 

Brazen boy! I will be the judge of what is or is not uncalled for!

Do not trouble yourself with the bother of replying in legible script. I have nothing better to do with my time than to spend the empty hours of it in fruitless attempts at deciphering the cuneiform that passes for your handwriting. 

Sincerely, Severus Snape

All thoughts of the inventory list gone, Professor Snape folded the parchment into an envelope and left his office for the Owlery.

"It's colder than a brass monkey's bum out there."

"That's good, Harry. For I moment, I thought you were going to say 'colder than a witch's breast.' I've heard that muggles actually say that, and since you lived with muggles for so many years. . ."

"Very funny, Ron. I wouldn't say that, especially since the witches I know have nice, warm, round. . ."

Ron laughed. "Enough. I get the picture."

"I know that it's the cool season here, but who'd reckon that they ever got winter like this in Australia?" Harry's face and ears were red with the chill as he removed his cloak and tossed it onto the sofa. He stood in front of the fireplace, arms extended, warming his hands.

Ron, who was occupying one end of the sofa in question, looked up from his reading. "That is exactly why I didn't go out tonight. The Wireless says that this is some sort of freak cold spell." 

"-Freak- is an understatement. -Evil-, more like." Harry went into the kitchenette and started rifling through cupboards. "It just seems so unfair to miss an entire summer. Where did you put the tea?"

"In the cabinet to the right of the stove, second shelf. And we aren't missing summer. It's still July," Ron responded.

"Precisely," Harry insisted as he filled the kettle and set it on the hob, "it's July. There's supposed to be sunshine and warmth, and maybe a trip to Brighton or something else that involves walking about in swim trunks. Makes me wonder why in the worlds we couldn't have been trained back home. " 

"Well, mate, training here is probably safer than training at home, under the circumstances. Besides, we do have teachers here who are expert at a whole different range of DADA. We'll certainly need the specialized training what with You-Know-Who escalating the war and all. " 

"If we don't freeze to death in the process. Do you want a cup?" Harry asked.

"Yes, please. Well, did you have a good time anyway?"

Harry looked up from arranging the mugs and some biscuits on a tray and grinned. "I guess I did. Speaking of places where one walks about in swim wear, and speaking of witches, there were some trainees from Hawaii at the gathering." He paused for a second. "Now that I think about it, being there -was- worth freezing my arse off. I am definitely going to Hawaii for my next holiday. You really should have gone along."

"Maybe so. But you know how threadbare my cloak is. It's embarrassing, really. I've written to Fred and George to see if they'll loan me some money for a new one. Besides, I do have the reading to finish." Ron waved his copy of Effective Entrenchment: Military Enchantment and Geomancy for emphasis. 

"You know," Harry said earnestly, "I could loan you the money." 

"No thanks. Since mum is still holding your Gringotts key, borrowing from you would mean writing her. And that would involve her and shopping, which is always a bad combination. I don't want to be stuck with any more monstrosities from the second-hand store." 

"Oh, that reminds me," Harry rustled about in the pocket of his discarded robe and handed a brown envelope to Ron, "I picked this up for you from the front desk downstairs. It got past the wards all right, so I suppose its okay. Can't imagine who it's from though." 

Ron glanced at the handwriting of the address and tucked the letter into the back leaves of the book he was reading. "Thanks."

"It's not from Hermione or the twins or your mum, because you would have piped right up if it were," Harry pried.

Ron gave a little shrug.

"You aren't going to tell me who it's from, are you?"

"Not yet, Harry. I will, eventually. In fact, you'll be the first to know." 

Harry sighed and went back to the kitchenette to finish fixing the tea. Ron leaned back on the sofa and opened his letter. A quick murmured charm and a light tap of his wand, and the Daily Prophet article on the Chudley Cannons' latest victory transfigured into something much more interesting.


	2. Quickening Two

A Quickening of the Heart 

Chapter Two

Warnings appear at the beginning of Chapter One

-------------

"So you're refusing the whole lot then," the Apothecary clerk bawled.

"No. I'll take the scarab beetle and the ginger root. The armadillo bile is clearly past its expiration date and I won't accept it," Snape replied simply.

"Well you have to take the whole requisition or nothing at all. We ordered this especially for the school and there are no returns on special orders." 

Snape glared at the clerk. "That's your problem. Do you think I'm some kind of fool? The thickheaded children that I teach are destructive enough without assistance from substandard ingredients! Do you think I want a classroom full of melting cauldrons?"

Despite the lower register of Snape's response, the Shop Manager knew an altercation when he saw one, and he waddled his way over to intervene.

"That's quite enough, Mr Leavitt. I'll take over the sale from here." When the beleaguered clerk had finally disappeared into the storeroom, the Manager took Snape aside to strike a deal.

"We'll let you take the ginger and the beetles separately, but only if you will agree to place another order with us for the bile. We want a chance to make this right. We have a new supplier from Texas over in the States, and they guarantee freshness. . ."

A huge brown post-owl suddenly swooped into the Apothecary Shop and all but dropped a little package on Snape's head. After the bird had departed in a flurry of feathers, Snape responded to the merchant. 

"Fine. Same quantity, but I leave all of the other details to you. Here's the rest of the school order." He snapped a folded parchment into the Manager's hand. "As usual, we must have delivery of everything no later than August 28th." 

Snape moved quickly towards the door with characteristic grace. 

"We do appreciate your business, Professor," the Manager called after him. The teacher's only response was a perfunctory wave of his arm as he exited the store. 

Snape quickly made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, flowing through the Diagon Alley crowds, hyperaware of the parcel secreted in the inner pocket of his robe. He had thought of spending the night in Diagon Alley, perhaps venturing out into Muggle London to see one of the many shows playing there, but those plans vanished with the delivery of the letter. All he wanted now was to return to the privacy of his rooms to read Weasley's latest missive. 

Snape entered the dim light of the Leaky Cauldron and paid the barkeep for some Floo Powder. 

11th July 1998 

My dear Friend:

Thanks for answering my letter. Yours arrived here on the 9th, but as there was a storm going on, no owls could be dispatched until now. In fact, you need to know that letters will probably only reach me once a month because everything is portkeyed to and from London every three or four weeks with the diplomatic pouch. 

The weather here has been really poor; in fact, the worst in at least 100 years. We've had sleet and snow with high winds and temperatures as low as 3 degrees over the past few days. Outside training activities have been temporarily cancelled, and that's just fine with me, as my winter cloak is rather worn out. 

You'll be happy to know that we doing quite well in our Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts training. We are learning hand-to hand combat in a style similar to what muggles call "martial arts". We have several teachers who have come over from Perth to teach a type of ninjutsu called buke mahou. It's a form of wandless defense that I am really enjoying. The next time I see you, I will have to show you some of the katas.

Our instructor for charms and spells is an Aborigine of the Narranga tribe, Dr Bellambi. You, of course, understand how the Unforgivables work; that one must actually be able to bring negative emotions to bear against the object of the curses. Dr Bellambi seems to have developed a method of deflecting the curses through applied use of calming spells and certain types of charms. Bellambi is also pretty keen on the happenings with You-Know-Who, and he's really taken us under his wing for additional instruction. Nearly all of the spells he's taught us are Koori in origin. 'Koori' is what the Aborigines here prefer to be called. I have enclosed a copy of the Koori spell book that I have been reading, as I am sure of your interest in such things. The spells I seem to be getting in one, but I have never been much of a dab hand at charms, so that's taking a bit longer. Maybe we can discuss some of that in a future letter. Maybe I can get some private lessons. . .

Speaking of letters, yours was a bit of a sass, wasn't it? Some kind of challenge or cipher too. I should have reckoned on a snarky reply from you. I am also not surprised that you would send something that I would have to interpret before replying. Let me see if I get it.

You were happy to find my note. You really think that I am brave and clever, and you want me to write to you (but to use better handwriting skills in doing so). I won't say you are being a prat about that last because I agree that my handwriting is poor at best, but especially bad whenever I am in a hurry. And I was in a great deal of hurry when I left that note. I didn't want to find myself on the wrong end of one of your hexes. There was one other point, though.

You miss me and you want another kiss as much as I do. 

If someone had told me two years ago that I would be saying something like this to you, I would have named him a candidate for Lockhart's ward at St. Mungo's. There are times when even I find this situation unbelievable. That's why I didn't try to talk to you again after last Christmas. First I thought you were angry with me, but then I was thinking that you were right; that I really needed to get my shit together and find some other direction for my energy. I spent all the months before leaving Hogwarts trying my best to do just that. Through it all, though, I still glimpse our future together, among other things.

I don't know how to begin with this. I've already done with shock and denial and even resentment. I'm not even of the inclination to be interested romantically in men, but my care and attention seems to be attached to you. Oddly enough, this no longer frightens me. Now I have expectations and other feelings. I dare not say more. You've given me permission to write and I hope we will grow closer. 

Speaking of 'closer,' I wish I were there now. I need so much more than a kiss. And so do you.

I look forward to your reply.

Yours,  
R

Severus Snape took another sip of Opus One as he considered the letter and the spellbook resting on his desk. For the first time in his life, he felt at a total loss for words. 

He raised his free hand and let his fingers sweep the spot at the corner of his mouth, again touching the place where the little charm embedded in the letter had imparted an ethereal kiss. 

As he sat, outwardly calm and sipping wine, his mind was torn by apprehension. Unconsciously he took the cigarette case out. . .and then slipped it back into the drawer, unopened.

No. Now was clearly not the time to partake. Now was the time for absolute clarity. 

He knew that he was no prize catch by any estimation. He was honest enough to admit to being arrogant, hateful, petty, intolerant, sarcastic, spiteful and vindictive; but he was also aware of his physical failings as well. Despite the cajoling lies the mirror told, he knew the image of a thin, sallow, stained, careworn, jaded, and unattractive man was the truth. Adding all of this to the fact that he was twenty years older than Ron made this entire episode ridiculous.

So much more than a kiss. . .the boy cannot possibly understand what he's asking. . .

The emotional exposure was alarming enough; but the thought of another person seeing him starkers was nothing if not daunting.

In short, he could see nothing of worth that recommended him as a consort despite Ron's absolute certainty that they were meant to be together.

As if the very thought of intimacy with Ron wasn't worrying enough, there was the matter of the rumors that had bandied about at the Dark Lord's little soiree of a fortnight ago when he had been accosted by Draco Malfoy. He'd known that Draco had taken the Dark Mark just after leaving school; thus confirming his estimation that Draco was not only impulsive and hotheaded, but just plain stupid. Even so, hearing that familiar voice drawl on about rumors of 'Weasel's boyfriend' from behind the cover of a Death Eater's mask was startling. The periodic twinges of pain lately emitted by his left arm weren't helping matters either. 

He knew that Ron knew some things about his past, but not everything. 

Ron had a right to know; to know about everything. 

Before now, he had only been truly close to and devoted to Albus Dumbledore. His relationship with the Headmaster was a blend of the filial and the egalitarian that had grown very comfortable over the years.  
As comfortable as he was with Albus, however, he had never felt as compelled to lay bare his soul as he now felt with Ron. 

Ron, whom he had first met as a callow, coltish, eleven-year-old boy with a perpetually dirty face--all long legs and carroty hair and freckles.

How could he share his innermost self with a mere child? 

But Ron wasn't a child anymore. Ron had grown into an articulate man who had dared to kiss his teacher. 

At that thought , his heart was compelling him to hazard a chance and pour himself out in a letter; but he knew that doing that would be foolhardy. Apart from the fact that he just wasn't ready for that sort of vulnerability, there was the troubling bit about what Malfoy said. How in the world could Draco know that Ron was associated with a man? Every precaution had been taken with the letters. The highest forms of wards had been placed; but it was clear that they were being intercepted at the Ministry level, that someone in Law Enforcement was involved. Who? And if Malfoy somehow knew something, then who else knew? And what exactly was known? Did he dare to answer the next summons?

Damn and damn! He slammed his fist down on the desktop, sending the red inkwell crashing to the floor. 

It was just one more little reminder that he was unworthy of receiving any consideration from this young man. Just sharing a few simple letters could prove deadly. 

It was no small matter of having 'skeletons in the closet,' as it were. He'd been a Death Eater in fact and was still one in fancy; a man so debased that no respectable person would want anything to do with him. Even if the war was won by the light side, the questionable practices he had engaged in as a spy could be enough to land him in Azkaban. He couldn't possibly pair off with someone like Weasley, someone with their whole blameless life ahead of them. To take Weasley to consort would be to drag him down into the gutter. 

Or worse.

Perhaps giving in to Weasley's request that they correspond wasn't such a prudent idea. 

He closed his eyes briefly, giving his mind time to choke off the ache lancing through his center. 

Setting the wineglass aside, he took up his quill.

"Ron!" Harry's call echoed through the empty training salle, interupting the flow of the katas Ron was performing. Ron landed gracefully and turned expectantly toward his friend, the loose training robe settling against his lean form.

"It looks like your mother has sent you something again." Harry held a wide flat package out at arms length.

"Was there a card?" 

"Well, erm, no. But I just assumed that it's from your mum."

"Could be from Fred and George. I had written to them. Anyway I hope its something good to eat. The food in the commissary is terrible," Ron responded as he lifted the package from Harry's hands. 

"You're right about that," Harry responded. "I don't think they use house elves here and it's pretty clear that whomever does the cooking doesn't know what they are doing. Still, I'd rather eat the bad food here than be back at the Dursleys. Hell, at least here I do eat." 

Weasley immediately folded himself into a cross-legged sitting position on the mat and started to unwrap the package. "Don't worry, mate. If there's any food in here, half of it is yours. Anything is better than Vegemite." 

The lid was slipped away to reveal-a robe wrapped in pale grey tissue paper. Weasley lifted the garment from the box. The robe was of the finest wool, dark blue with a satiny deep blue lining and a high collar. Ron stood, slipped the garment on and did up the many little buttons adorning the front closure. It was a perfect fit.

"Very elegant, Ron. Gift from the twins?" 

"No," he answered. "And, before you ask-it's not from mum either."

"I guess this is another case of 'someday I'll be the first to know' then," Harry responded dryly. 

"Got it in one."

"But," Harry said, looking appraisingly at his friend, "something about this robe reminds me of someone. . ."

Ron blushed furiously. He quickly removed the robe, stuffed it back into the box and handed the box to Harry. 

"Look, Harry, I have three more katas to practice and I'll be done here. Could you take this to our flat for me?" 

"Sure. No problem," Harry responded as Ron returned to his drills. 

Ron placed the box on the table and lifted the robe out once again. He slipped it on, and for a few moments he ran his hands over the soft material, thinking of the person who had worn it last. Then he began to search the box for any signs of a letter.

There was nothing but wrapping tissue in the box. 

But, of course! The letter might have been spelled into the paper somehow. 

After trying three of the most difficult spells for reversing obscurus, Ron was finally able to reveal the spidery handwriting covering the corner of one of the sheets of wrapping. 

12th August 1998

Dear friend:

I have never known you to be prepared for anything.  
Therefore, I was not surprised to learn that you set off for Melbourne with inadequate robes. Do not flatter yourself; the robe accompanying this letter is not a new one. In fact, it is one of my own, a spare that I have not had occasion to use for quite some time. As we are approximately the same height, and as such cloaks are designed to fit loosely, I believe that this should meet your needs for covering and warmth during the remainder of the Southern Hemisphere's cool season. 

I thank you for the gift of the book. I have not had an opportunity to peruse it as yet, but rest assured that I will in the near future. Perhaps we will have occasion to discuss your progress with the spells. I have heard of Dr Bellambi, particularly in connection with the use of certain ancient aboriginal banishing curses. Your mention of him has renewed my interest, and I shall be spending some of my free time revising in that regard. But enough of this.

I must admit that it has taken me some time to clear my mind enough to write this letter. 

You have said that there are things I don't know about you and things that I think you don't know about me. The fact is that there are things about me that you do not know. This is the particular issue at hand.

I know that you are a scion of one of the oldest pureblood wizarding families in Britain, although also of unprivileged circumstances. Your immediate family, although Gryffindor in nature, is related by blood to the most ancient of Slytherins, the Blacks and the Malfoys. 

In matters of pedigree, you and I are well matched. However, I am concerned about our association in terms of my history. In short, it has become increasing clear to me that your acquaintance with me may prove to be a hindrance to the advancement of your career. I do consider your best interests in all things; therefore, I cannot abide the thought that our alliance might possibly cause you difficulty in the future. 

In light of this, I think it best that we discontinue correspondence at this time.

You may, however, keep and use the robe. Wear it in good health.

. . .Farewell

In shock, Ron read the words three times before a flare of rage made him crumple the letter into a ball and hurl it across the room. "Shit!" he yelled. "Damn it all to bloody hell!"

Which brought a concerned Harry down the short hallway and to his door. There was first a tap with the fingers and then the door cracked open. "Ron, are you okay?"

Ron was sitting at his writing table, still wearing the gift robe, the empty box before him. Harry could see that his chest was heaving with the effort to quell anger. 

"Bad news?" Harry asked, softly.

Ron turned to face his friend. "Harry, I don't know what the bloody hell I was thinking, getting involved with that snarky bastard. I must be insane," Ron blurted out, his hands making a bird's nest of his hair. Suddenly, he lowered his arm and violently swept the empty box and everything else on the top of the table to the floor. 

"Who? What?" Harry stepped forward and gently rested his right hand on Ron's shoulder in a calming gesture.

Ron gave a long sigh as Harry's concern drained the fury from him, only to deflate into a pool of disappointment and dejection. "Snape."

"Professor Snape? Ron, I am confused here."

Ron turned in his seat to face Harry, his features reddening. "It's a long story, Harry, but I. . . we. . .I mean. . ."

Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise. 

"You've been writing letters to Snape," Harry concluded. "He's the one that I would be the first to know about, isn't he?" Harry sat heavily down on Ron's bed, and gave a little mirthless chuckle. "Funny this, then. You and Severus Snape. I would never have reckoned you for a bloke who fancies other blokes, least of all that bloke." 

Harry's words emboldened Ron to continue, softly. "I don't really. Fancy blokes, I mean." Ron started to wring his hands. "Oh, I don't know what I'm talking about. It's all so very strange. But I do fancy him. I think I'm in love with him. Oh, shit-I am in love with him."

"I think that I understand," Harry trailed off, not really understanding at all, but seeming to try as any good friend would. 

"Well," Ron sighed, "We've been writing, you see. I thought that he was beginning to care for me, too, but now. . . God, Harry, what am I going to do?" Ron slumped forward across the vacant tabletop, his head cradled on his arms.

"Well, what did he say?"

"That he changed his mind about everything, about us, about me writing to him anymore. Harry, everything was going so well and now this. What in the world could have happened?" 

Harry pointed at the wadded up letter lying on the floor. "May I?"

"I don't care," Ron answered dejectedly. 

Harry unfolded the paper and read the letter quickly. He piped up with a knowing, "I see."

"What, pray tell, do you see? All I can see is that everything's gone pear-  
shaped right now."

"Ron, you remember when we found out that Snape had been a Death Eater, don't you?"

Ron's head snapped up. "What? Right. But he quit all that and he's in the Order!"

"Yes, he is. Getting information for Dumbledore. . ." Harry trailed off.

"But I don't understand what that has to do with anything, Harry."

"Think about it, Ron. Snape's still a sort of spy, going to meetings and pretending that he's still a Death Eater. I think that he's found something out and is trying to protect you." Harry tapped the paper with his index finger. "Here, now. Right here he says that being with you might cause you difficulty in the future. He knows something, all right. He's actually warning you. He's way too smart to say anything specific in a letter." 

Ron stood and took the wrinkled letter from Harry's hand. "I don't care about that, Harry. I can take care of myself."

"But what about him? If Voldemort's people find out about you and him they might set up an ambush or something. His cover will be blown." Harry sat down on the bed with a sigh. "For all we know, he's already been found out." 

"Oh. I didn't think of that." Ron reddened. "Hell! But I just can't let this go."

Harry was thoughtful for a few moments, then he offered, "Letters are definitely being intercepted." 

"Figures. We know that You-Know-Who has people in the Ministry.  
But in Law Enforcement, Harry? That's a very scary thought. That means that some of the Aurors are. . ." 

"Death Eaters?" Harry supplied. "Explains right well why Dumbledore recommended that we be sent here for training and not kept at home." Harry gave Ron a sidelong look. "Of course, Dumbledore doesn't know about you and Snape, does he?"

"No, Harry. I didn't announce it to the world," Ron bristled.

"I didn't think you should have told the world," Harry replied gently. "Perhaps you should have told Dumbledore, though."

Ron stood and paced for a moment. "I didn't think about that, okay? It was private." 

Harry laid a hand on his friend's arm. "Ron, did the visions have anything to do with this?" 

"Yes." Ron stood for a moment, considering, his eyes going soft. "I mean, I'll admit to being led about by my feelings. And my prick. Hell! Who knew that my wanting to shag Snape would lead to this?" 

"This means that all of our communications are being intercepted. Not just ours, but possibly the instructions being sent to the diplomatic missions around the world. This is really bad, Ron. We need to find out who is involved in this."

Ron balled his hands into fists. "I swear to you, Harry, that someday I am going to be one of the people who cleans out that sewer that the Ministry of Magic has turned into. Branch and limb, I swear! So," Ron threw himself down on the bed, "we will have to stop corresponding,  
then. . ."

Harry stood, eyes hooded in thought for a bit. 

"Maybe there is a way. . ."


	3. Quickening Three

A Quickening of the Heart 

Chapter Three

Warnings appear at the beginning of Chapter One

------------

"It says that we have to book time to use the computer." Harry glanced at his watch. "We should have gotten here earlier. We don't have much time, so I hope we don't have to wait very long."

"Yeah," Ron added, "its jubakujitsu (wandless defense-wizarding martial arts) this afternoon and I don't want to miss any of it."

"I'd be perfectly happy to miss it," Harry deadpanned in response.

"I know that those classes aren't easy for you, Harry; but it's like Master Po always says, 'a martial art is a discipline of the mind and body as much as it's an art of battle.' You just need to concentrate more, is all."

"You sound like Hermione," Harry replied as they walked through the doors. "Let's get this over with."

At the reference counter of the Yarra-Melbourne Regional Library, they inquired about using a computer, and a young woman led them to a room full of them. Fortunately, there were only five users present, all of them seemingly so engrossed in whatever they were doing that they didn't even look up when Harry and Ron entered the room. The librarian helped the pair get situated. 

"You have until noon," she reminded, looking up at the wall clock. 

"I don't have much experience," Harry offered.

"It's really quite easy," she pressed yet another brochure entitled A Guide to the WWW into Harry's hand, and used the mouse to adjust the computer to a screen where the cartoon image of a stout matron marched proudly to the left of an admonition that this was "The Mother of all Search Engines(tm)." Just below that, a dark vertical line winked on and off in a slot-like box.

"You just enter whatever it is you are searching for here," she pointed, "and then click here. The computer will come up with your choices. You'll have to check each to see if that's what you want." 

"We're looking for the Granger Orthodontic Centre," Ron chimed in. 

"That should make it easier," the librarian indicated the brochure again, "still it's best if you think of ways to narrow things down so the search gets as near as possible to exactly what you are looking for. It helps if you put the search term in quotes. Just put the name in quotes and try searching with that. Good luck." She departed in a perfumed swirl of skirts.

Ron stared dolefully at the computer. "This doesn't look like its nearly as much fun as the elepfison."

"From what I've heard, it's even more fun than the television. Better than a pensieve." Harry unfolded the brochure and scanned it. "Hey, here's something you can use right away," Harry pointed at a subheading that read Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual Issues; A Guide to Queer Resources in the Social Sciences. 

"I don't understand."

Harry tapped a word with his forefinger. "'Gay' is what muggles call blokes who prefer the company of other blokes."

"Very funny, Harry," Ron glared at his friend.

"Well, it's true. You haven't told your parents yet, have you?"

"I'm trying to work up the courage. I reckon mum isn't going to be too happy about it."

"Well, mate, I'm just saying that something there might help you, is all. Maybe after we get situated with this plan you can use the computer to look up some stuff for yourself." 

"That's okay, Harry. I'll tell them in my own way and on my own schedule." 

Harry touched Ron's arm in a gesture of solidarity, "I just don't think they should find out by accident."

Ron sighed and gestured toward the monitor, "Well then, shouldn't we get started?" 

Severus Snape actually slumped at his desk as he watched the student at the second worktable on his right. She was already weeping, fat tears silently rolling down her cheeks, one chubby hand stuffed indecorously into her mouth to muffle the inevitable howls as her cauldron boiled over. He rolled his eyes. This was doing absolutely nothing to relieve the black mood he had been in lately. 

No sooner had he gotten rid of Longbottom than the Fates (or was it the Furies?) sent him Matilda Merritt. Within the first month of the school term the silly little bint had managed to destroy three cauldrons and a worktable. And now she couldn't even manage a simple first-year Wit Sharpening Potion, just three ingredients, uncomplicated to brew. This was truly the feminine embodiment of Longbottom's ineptitude. And worst of all, a Slytherin. He gave a long sigh as cauldron number four finally imploded, its scalding contents roiling over the tabletop. 

It was the Furies after all. He'd have to take points from his own House for this.

He muttered one charm to extinguish the fire and another to impede the flow of the hot liquid. The other first year Slytherin and Gryffindor students in the class looked up from their work, clearly feeling sorry for Matilda. Snape bellowed at them.

"Pay attention to your work! If any more cauldrons melt, the owners of them will be entertaining Mr. Filch this evening."

As the rest of the class turned anxiously back to their work, he swept to the worktable in question and loomed over the unfortunate pupil like the shadow of death. 

"Miss Merritt," he breathed with all of the contempt he could muster, "how many times must I tell you that the temperature of this must be kept constant? Yet you simply stood there and let it boil. I have told you over and over how dangerous an overheated cauldron can be. It is clear that everything I said went in one of your ears and right out of the other!" He grabbed one of her shining blond pigtails and gave it a tug. " That's it! There's nothing but hair in that head of yours! It is certainly clear that there is no brain in there to absorb any of your lessons. You of all people here, as obtuse as you seem to be, need this potion most of all!"

"'M sorry, Professor," she sniffed, her red-rimmed blue eyes lifting toward her teacher, "I didn't mean to. I wasn't looking. I thought one of them beetles was crawling, and I'm afraid of bugs!" She wiped her streaming nose on her sleeve. 

"Idiot child-those beetles are all dead! Even if they were alive, they're harmless!" Snape exclaimed. "That's 10 points from Slytherin for your incompetence! Go and wash your face and then clean up this mess -you're absolutely adrip with fluids that could contaminate this and cause an even worse reaction. And you will write me three feet on cauldron safety and the dangers of distraction-due tomorrow!" 

The sobbing child departed the class for the girl's toilet and he stalked back to his desk and shifted papers about until he found the letter. 

This wasn't helping his mood either. 

There was yet another completely dense person that he had to deal with. Speaking of hair-brained. . . and slow on the uptake!

He stared down at the letter and re-read the emotional pleas scrawled across the parchment: 

. . .I will admit that your telling me that we are over before we've even started was a terrible shock to me. My emotions have been running out of control. I feel angry and sad, but I cannot help feeling a bit jealous as well. I find my-self constantly wondering what or who has caused this sudden change of mind in you. I resent any interference in our relationship. . .

He snorted aloud. 

Who, indeed. Only a Gryffindor would naturally assume distraction by another person as the only valid reason for ending an affair. As if there was any real relationship involved in the first place. There was -no- relationship. 

There had been only a handful of letters and the speculations of an untested seer that they would have a future together. There couldn't be a relationship-not if either of them wanted to stay alive. He stuffed the letter into the back of his lesson plan book. 

An incipient headache made him pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forfinger and he found his indignation quickly being replaced by a creeping pall of melancholy. 

Just as he started to wonder who had gotten ahold of this recent and most ill-timed missive and what disasters would result, a sharp rapping at the classroom door caused him to jerk his head up.

"Enter."

Mr. Filch hobbled in, Mrs. Norris trailing behind. "Headmaster wants to see you right away, Professor."

Snape reached into his vest pocket and drew out his watch. 

"Very well, tell him that we are in the middle of brewing and that I will be up in about fifteen minutes or so." He gave the face of the watch a tap with one long finger before returning it to his pocket. 

"Right then," Filch responded, turning to leave.

The waning winter afternoon light filtered through the tall glass block windows of the training salle, illuminating the figure that moved haltingly through the exercise and the four people who sat watching him. 

The Sunday evening class was small; only four students. There was Ron, along with two Canadian Aurors-- Malcolm Cooper and Doug Weber--and Okura Po, the Dojo Master.

As Harry Potter took his turn on the dais, Master Po grimaced and shook with frustration. 

Despite the middling performance of the one being observed, the air fairly crackled with magic, proof of the power radiating from the demonstrating student. Ron watched his friend step from one sequence to another, coming to the realization that Harry might not ever be able to master the intricate movements that were so necessary to the skill of Jubakujitsu. Harry was an expert wand dualist, but it was clear that he would never allow himself to be physically relaxed and comfortable with his body enough to fall fully into the kata. 

"No, no NO!" Master Po shouted as he uncrossed his legs and rose to his feet. "It's the 'Whirling Serpent,' not the Dying Toad!"

Malcolm, the younger of the Canadian pair, gave an unpleasant smile at the invective and Ron wanted to punch him in the mouth.

As the Master tightened the belt of his Gi and turned toward Harry, all the students knew that the coming lecture was for all of them. 

"There is no question at all that you are the most powerful Wizard of this age, Harry Potter," the Master began, "and yet you are not in complete control of the spiritual and the physical. This is where you fail. And yet you must not fail because the hopes of many rest with you. You must not fail because the chief talent of your Opponent is the manipulation of the hearts, minds, and spirits of all whom he touches. If you will only concentrate these katas will help you to master yourself, which is the greatest victory of all." 

Po stopped and turned to face the class, taking a moment to look each one of them in the eye. 

"Wizards have come to rely solely on their ability with hexes and curses for protection, along with the art of wand dueling. However, this may prove inadequate in actual combat. This is where Jubakujitsu proves its value. Many different martial arts date back hundreds and even thousands of years, many of them far more ancient than the use of wands, many of them dating to the time of the great Merlin himself. Each generation of Wizards transmitted their knowledge and secrets to the next generation through these katas. Through kata we learn not only correct form, but proper focus of magical energies . . ."

Ron tried to pay attention, but the teacher's voice faded into a drone and Ron didn't notice his shields dropping. He had no warning at all that he was about to See, didn't even realize he was in trance until he looked down at his hands. And then he was trapped, helplessly watching as his slender, beringed fingers unfolded a letter, smoothed it flat and tapped it with a wand as the transfero was uttered.

And then he picked up another. And another. 

End Chapter Three 


	4. Quickening Four

A Quickening of the Heart 

Chapter Four

Warnings appear at the beginning of Chapter One

A/N: Since there have been numerous revisions to this story, previous readers should reread Chapters 1-3 in order to make sense of Chapter 4.

The fact that he didn't have to utter the name of some inane confection to get into the Headmaster's suite told him that Something Was Afoot. The guardian gargoyle had simply moved aside to allow him access. As the staircase carried him up toward the Headmaster's rooms the overwhelming knowledge that the Something was probably a Bad Something set his teeth on edge.

Then, there was the silence.

All of the little instrumentalities that normally filled the room with their clicks and whirrs, or that crawled, rolled, clambered or thumped about the surface of the Headmaster's desk were conspicuously absent.

The Headmaster's desk was empty save a teacup and a flat, black case that was a little larger than a Standard book.

Then, there was the Headmaster's guest.

Yes. This was most certainly a Bad Something.

As Snape crossed the threshhold of the office, the occupant of one of the horribly bright armchairs facing the Headmaster's desk stiffened. The man was sitting rigidly, his hands clenched to whiteness on the arms of his chair. As an instinctive Legilimens, Snape sensed anger rolling off the man in slow, silent waves, anger that was directed specifically at him.

Arthur Weasley's balding head jerked up, his color going to beetroot almost immediately.

Oh shit, Snape thought, something's happened. . .? For an instant, his breath caught in his throat. Immediately, his guts twisted with the wrenching desire to know that brought Weasley pere to Hogwarts; but that part of his nature that had been honed by years of dissembling made him keep silent.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore smiled warmly, gesturing at the remaining chair, "will you have a seat?"

As he settled into the seat, Arthur Weasley stared resolutely forward, as if pretending he wasn't there.

Not Good.

"Arthur," he extended by way of a greeting. Still, there was no response. He looked at Dumbledore, who now seemed to be ignoring both of them as he stared off into space.

"Headmaster," he called, "you interrupted my schedule of classes and asked me to come here. . ."

"Yes, Severus." The Headmaster took an envelope from the sleeve of his robe and held it out. "This, I believe, is yours.".

Snape took the envelope and turned it over to discover that it was unsealed. Flipping it back, he saw that its front bore an engraved return address for the Granger Orthodontics Centre and that his name was written on the front in an unfamiliar hand.

"I don't understand-"

At this, Weasley rose to his feet.

"You don't understand? You don't understand! I'm the one who doesn't understand! I don't understand why my son would be sending you anything like that!" Arthur Weasley erupted.

"Now, Arthur-let's have some tea and talk about this calmly-"

"Albus! How in the worlds can you sit there and talk about tea at a time like this? One of your teachers has been fraternizing with students-"

"I don't fraternize with students," Snape said softly, as he dropped the envelope on the Headmaster's desk.

"I should say not!" Weasley exclaimed. "It's apparent that you do a whole hell of a lot more than just fraternize. What I can't stomach is how the Headmaster can just turn a blind eye to something like this. Well, I'll be damned if I'll stand by and sacrifice my son!"

"Sacrifice your son!" Snape hissed. "You talk as if I am some sort of bloody cannibal or something!"

"If the shoe fits, Severus," Weasley gritted out between clenched teeth. "This is disgusting! The boy's only eighteen! You have to be influencing him somehow. He always hated you. What would make him change now?" He pointed a shaking finger at the envelope and turned toward the Headmaster. "Maybe the Imperious! Oh yes! That must be it. Is that part of the deal, then? Take the Death Eater back, put up with his perversions, everything forgiven-anything allowed as long as we get what we need to defeat You-Know-  
Who!"

Snape's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to respond, but was stopped by a stern look from the Headmaster.

"Arthur, calm yourself and sit down," Dumbledore said mildly. "We have much to discuss, and we will be civil about it." The Headmaster sat back in his chair and folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe.

For a few seconds, Weasley wavered, torn between staying and leaving. Electing to stay, he hurled himself back into his seat.

Dumbledore lifted his teacup and took a bracing sip, "Severus came to me last Christmas and explained everything."

"Last Christmas? So you are guilty of taking advantage of students. . ."

"Ron approached me first," Severus said defensively.

"Approached you first? Is that supposed to be an excuse? For God's sake man! You are the teacher!"

"Let me finish, Arthur." Dumbledore interrupted. "Ron has turned out to have the gift of prophesy. We had people in from the Department of Mysteries just before he sat his NEWTs, and he has been formally confirmed and registered as an Oracular Seer. There are already several of his pronouncements recorded and on file."

For a moment, Dumbledore drummed his fingers on the desktop as he sat back and smiled before continuing.

"Arthur, it would really be most instructive to you to visit Mysteries and check those prophecies. One of them involves you and Molly. At any rate, it seems that the gift first announced itself with a series of visions involving Severus." Dumbledore laughed as he went on, "I've been told that this is typical for the Oracular type, that the first and strongest predictions would involve a future spouse or lover. Ron apparently decided on his own to consult with Severus about certain visions he had been having."

"LOVER! Why, the very thought is disgusting and it doesn't change the fact that my son was a student when it happened. Why wasn't someone looking out for him, Minerva, for example? Where was she in all of this?" He shifted in his chair so that he could look Snape in the eye. "Why didn't you report. . ."

"I did report this." Snape gave him a fierce glare.

"I have told you, Arthur, that the first visions in this case are very fervent," Dumbledore continued. "Ron might have felt uncomfortable discussing this with anyone else, or, considering his age and the influence of hormones, he might have been emotionally involved by then. At any rate, he was legally an adult at the time. It was his choice to discuss this with whomever he wanted."

"That's just an excuse. There's still the matter of inappropriate contact between a Hogwarts teacher and a student. . ."

Snape snorted, "Aside from the clear fact that I want to keep my job, it is very plain that you are not thinking clearly. We are both in the Order. What do you think I am, a fool? I was watched everyday by Draco Malfoy. Have you never thought about that? Have you never thought how it would look if I was friendly with the Weasley family, a family that loves Muggles?"

"Lies, damnable lies," Weasley gritted out.

"I never touched him, Arthur," Snape rose to his full height to tower over the occupant of the chair next to his. "Do you want me to tell you what happened? Very, well then."

Snape retreated to the space behind the armchairs and paced as he spoke.

"Late at night on the evening before Hogsmeade weekend,  
Ronald came to my office. He marched right in and told me directly that he had been having dreams and visions since the previous summer. I laughed at him and told him to talk to Sibyll, but he kept on about me, about the two of us. I told him to speak to Minerva, I did everything I could to dissuade him, but he was insistent. I didn't even believe him until. . ."

"Until what!"

"Until he kissed me," Snape ground out through clenched teeth.

"Albus!" Weasley shouted.

When the Headmaster didn't respond, Snape sighed and clasped his hands together behind his back. Memory rushed into that small silence and in spite of all, his voice softened. "He kissed me. As soon as he touched me, in that sudden moment of thought and mood, I could see everything he saw."

Dumbledore smiled widely. "Splendid, my dear boy! And here I was worried that you would always be alone."

Weasley pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. "Albus, I cannot believe you condone this!"

"It isn't a matter of what I condone. I have told you that this is what your son forsaw. If in his prescience he has chosen Severus, then the matter must rest between the two of them alone. He isn't a student or a child anymore." Dumbledore's response was stern.

Weasley seemed to deflate as he finally sat sank into his chair.

"Molly's quite upset about this," he said softly, "she blames herself, you understand. Just can't see how she went wrong, what with Ron turning out to be this way.

"And what 'way' might that be?" Snape drawled as he circled around to face Weasley.

Weasley exhaled and shook his head in response, his eyes drifting shut. Snape seized the arms of his chair and leaned down so that they were face to face.

"Oh, I do understand. It's bad enough that the boy associates with a known Death Eater on a regular basis--but the thought that your Ronniekins might be a bender, a shirt-lifter, a pillow-biter is beyond tolerance," Snape hissed. "Surely his being that way is someone's fault. Yes. I must have lured him, but Molly must share the fault. She coddled him. She babied him. She tied him to the apron strings. . ."

Weasley sunk his head into his hands and scrubbed at his eyes.

"I wonder how Molly came to the conclusion that the particular blame was hers?" Snape whispered.

"Enough, Severus," Dumbledore said, "Take your seat. We are still on the same side. And there is something of substance that we must discuss."

Ron stood over the woman on the floor, watching as her body spasmed with Cruciatus. In seizure, the woman rolled toward him, and he saw her blood splattered face.

He wanted to scream. Why couldn't he scream?

"Very good, then," a male voice boomed from just behind him. "Are you sure that she was the only one who saw you?"

"Yes," Ron answered. Only it wasn't his voice. It was a woman's voice.

He knew that voice--he'd heard it before. If only he could remember. . .

"She'll tell us nothing further," yet another man's voice floated over Ron. That one stepped over in front of him, but all he could see was the back of a coarse brown hooded robe.

"Avada. . ."

"Ronald?" Master Po's hand on his shoulder and concerned voice brought him back to reality. Ron looked at the teacher, and then out into the room, blinking to change his focus, his body rigid. He knew that this was a vision of something yet to occur. Something that would happen if he didn't do something. If there was anything that he could do. . .

"Ron? Are you okay?" Harry asked.

Ron bowed forward, head in hands. "I need to talk to the Centre Director right away."


	5. Quickening Five

**A Quickening of the Heart **

**Part Five**

**Warnings and Disclaimers at the beginning of Part One**

**Author's Note: The following dispatches are supposed to be in email format, but ffnet upload will not allow posting in that format. Nor will this site allow any offsite link to files that are in the correct format. The dispatches below, therefore, do not appear in the proper format, which takes away from the plot of the story. Please forgive the awkward appearance of the following chapter. ffnet upload does not do this chapter any justice.**

**zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz**

******From DorothyGale**

******To Scarface and Oracle **

******Sent Wednesday, September 30, 1998 10:57 AM**

******Subject Direct Mail**

******I've just been sitting here, waiting for the next victim to arrive and so I thought it a prime time to talk to you both. I trust all is well in the Land Down Under. **

******Leave it to you, Scar, to think of this way of keeping in touch. Not only is it faster and more efficient, but it ensures that the target audience is reached. Palpatine doesn't know a thing. I'm impressed. Didn't know you had it in you. **

******Speaking of target audiences, Merlin got the message last week, but I think that Oracle's went rather wide of the mark. **

******As you know, for security reasons avian delivery was discontinued at the Castle. Everything goes by courier to a central mailroom now. Anyway, the note that was included in with the letter to Merlin was accidentally opened and read by one of the hardworking staff (and you know how enthusiastic they can get. . .) As you may guess, this caused some particular excitement and one of the staffers let the contents slip. Of course it got around and the Castle is in a bit of a tumult. **

******Red told me that both the Lord and Lady know all about everything now, and only some clever news management has kept things from getting worse. Apparently, there was some big meeting and Merlin was happy to learn of certain developments, but His Grace was not. Prospero was also there and was rather embarrassed by it all. Now half the Castle subjects despise him even more and the other half are infatuated with him. **

******Of course, I think the whole thing is wonderfully romantic, but really Oracle--it wasn't very smart to include that little missive in the Castle mail. I forwarded your post unopened and by direct courier so I didn't even know the extra note was there. **

******Oracle, it would be better if you communicate directly with Prospero in the future. **

******Some things should be kept private. Apologizing would be a good thing. **

******Both of you--let me know how everything is going down there. I want to hear about all of your adventures. **

******Dorothy**

******zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz **

******From Scarface**

******To DorothyGale**

******Sent Friday, October 2, 1998 6:05 PM**

******Subject RE: Direct Mail**

******It was really good to hear from you. I guess you decided to postpone going to university since you are still working with your parents. Have you decided to go to university in the spring? **

******It's good to know that we remain invisible to the Sith at this point. **

******Oracle and I have rented a furnished off campus flat to keep the computer in and**

******that's where we will be emailing from. The good thing about this is that we'll be able to communicate privately. The bad thing about it is that we'll only be able to answer mail in the evening after classes are over. So you probably won't get this until Monday. **

******Anyway, I am sorry to hear about the big blowup. I don't want to even think about how Prospero feels about this. I've been on the receiving end of his disappointment before and I have a pretty fair idea about what happened. I didn't know about Oracle's note either, but I guess the cat's out of the bag now. I did tell him to let his family know he'd decided to play for the other team, but he basically told me to mind my own business and that he'd take care of everything in his own time. The last letter he received from Prospero was a 'goodbye' note and I guess that made him desperate. You know how hotheaded he is. I'd appreciate receiving updates on how the weather is in Scotland from time to time. We're planning to visit around Halloween and I want to be prepared. **

******Scarface**

******zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz **

******From TheOracle**

******To DorothyGale**

******Sent Friday, October 2, 1998 9:30 PM**

******Subject RE: Direct Mail**

******Before you go ahead and say it again, I will. You are right. I should have told mum and dad. I was wrong. **

******Did Ginny say exactly how angry dad was? No. Forget it. I don't think I want to know. What really worries me is how Severus reacted. I care about him so much. I can't stand the thought that I've done anything to hurt him. **

******You said he was embarrassed. He doesn't put up with any assault on his dignity very well, so I suppose I'm in his bad books for now. I will take your advice and ask for forgiveness. Even knowing what the final outcome will be doesn't make the doing of it any easier though. I suppose I'm getting what I deserve for insisting on having my way. **

******If there's any chance that you will be speaking to him, could you put in a good word for me?**

******Ron**

******zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz **

******From Merlin**

******To Prospero**

******Sent Saturday, October 3, 1998 12:19 AM**

******Subject (No Subject) **

******This is simply wonderful! Excellent!**

******Do you know what this is? Just Guess--**

******-Pictogram- **

******It's a wand. Some very nice person on the muggle internet **

******helped me with that. Guess what this is?**

******-Pictogram- **

******It's the Sorting Hat, of course. **

******You can do all sorts of interesting things **

******with these electronic posts. Very clever, the muggles. It's as if they**

******simply invented their own form of magic. **

******Best of all, I understand that Our Opponent is so against muggle things**

******that he'll probably never bother with any electronic posts. We can speak **

******somewhat freely here, and it is as fast as the owlpost. **

******Once again, I want to tell you how very happy I am for you, my dear boy! I am very glad to know that you shan't be spending your future years alone. Arthur will get used to the situation very soon; in fact, sooner than you think. And don't be too hard on the boy. After all, he loves you.**

******When you get this send an electronic post back so I can see if everything is working well. Arabella is giving me some rather odd looks so I must close now.**

******Albus Dumbledore**

******zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz**

******From Prospero**

******To Merlin**

******Sent Sunday, October 4, 1998 8:45 PM**

******Subject RE: (No Subject) **

******Notice that there is (No Subject) captioned above. This is because there was No Subject to your message. While your little pictures were somewhat entertaining, I thought we'd agreed to use this method only for important or emergency communication. **

******SS**

******zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz **

******From The Oracle**

******To Prospero**

******Sent Sunday, October 4, 1998 9:30 PM**

******Subject Just want to talk **

******Is that you? Are you there? I just want to make sure first. I just want to be sure this works. **

******Ron**

******zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz **

******From Prospero**

******To Oracle**

******Sent Sunday, October 4, 1998 9:43 PM**

******Subject RE: Just want to talk**

******So talk.**

******SS**

******zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz **

******From: The Oracle **

******To Prospero**

******Sent Sunday, October 4, 1998 10:05 PM**

******Subject RE: RE: Just want to talk**

******I just found out what happened a few weeks ago and I want you to know that I am truly sorry. It was all my fault. I didn't tell my parents about us and I was stupid enough to put that note in with Harry's to Dumbledore. I didn't know it would be opened and read, but that's not an excuse either. **

******I know I've been a fool. But I'm not perfect either. I made a serious mistake and carelessly left a private note where others could get at it. This caused you a great deal of embarrassment. I beg for your forgiveness and I hope that you will try to grant that to me. I know that I am stupid. I know that this must prove that we are incompatible. I should have been more thoughtful and honored your request that we discontinue our correspondence. **

******I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me and let yourself believe in us again. I know I don't make things easy for you. I'm emotional. Your last frightened me to the point that I let emotions override common sense. All I could think of was somehow making you write to me again. I only wanted to have your attention again.**

******I want to tell you that I only did it because of love, but I won't. That's weak. I don't know what else to do. I'm very angry at myself for being so foolish. If you decide that this is over, I'll understand. **

******Ron**

******zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz **

******From Prospero**

******To TheOracle**

******Sent Saturday, October 10, 1998 3:48 PM**

******Subject RE: RE: RE: Just want to talk**

******Meet me in Hogsmeade Square, under the clocktower, at 8:00 p.m. on October 30, 1998 . **

******SS**

******End Part Five**


	6. Quickening Six

A Quickening of the Heart

By brensgrrl (3/13/06)

Part Six

(Author notes and disclaimer in Part One)

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The sun was just sinking when Snape met Ron beneath the large clock that graced the Hogsmeade square. There was an air of quiet maturity and confidence about him as he stood bathed in the red-gold light of the dying day, smiling, gazing back with a look of open appraisal. Still the same scattering of fawn freckles over his nose; still the same creamy skin; still the same wide-eyed Weasley look. Even so, there was something very different about Ron, a change of more surpassing weight than mere appearance. He was tall and imposing in the blue cloak, his long hair plaited and caught back in a leather tie, the coppery fall of the braid just beginning to creep over his shoulder.

/Really quite handsome/ the Potions Master thought.

"Right on time for once, Mr Weasley," Snape said.

"Of course," Ron replied softly, his eyes openly scanning the length of his former teacher's body, "I don't want to miss a single moment—and you're looking good."

"You have changed. You've gone quite blind." Snape smirked and made a little gesture and Ron fell into step by his side. "We can talk over dinner, then."

Silently, they walked, taking a couple of turns off the square and passing through an alley way to wind up in front of the frosted glass door of an establishment called "Remys." In the evening twilight, the doorway glowed with soft light, and the sounds of quiet music and soft voices could be heard from within.

"I hope that you like this place. The owner is French, a former potions instructor at Beaubatons, and a friend of mine," Snape gestured for Ron to enter ahead of him, "but best of all ,she is the very soul of discretion—unlike that infernal woman who runs The Three Broomsticks."

They passed into a tapestried foyer that was illuminated by a hovering crystal candelabra, and were met by the proprietor, a rotund middle-aged woman. She placed her chubby hands on Snape's biceps and gently brushed his cheek with her lips in an airy sort of kiss.

"Severus--I am most pleased to see you again," then turning toward Ron, "this is the friend you mentioned?"

"Y-yes," Ron answered, stammering a little as he extended his hand, "Ron Weasley. I'm pleased to meet you."

"Manon Remys," she responded, taking Ron's hand and turning toward Snape, "so very handsome!"

Ron glanced over at Snape and saw hectic spots of color on his cheeks. Snape, of all people, was blushing. It was an intriguing, even captivating look, and Ron couldn't hide his smile.

"Well then, " Snape said, "we'd best be getting on with dinner. Weasley's an Auror-in-Training and he must return to the Ministry tonight . And I, of course, have papers to grade."

"You must return tonight," Madame Remys echoed in a procative drawl, winking at Ron, as she squeezed his hand, "ah, then! Time is of the essence and the last thing either of you want is to spend the occasion talking to a fat woman! This way, now."

Madam Remys led them past an open area of sparsely occupied yet elegant tables surrounding a dance floor to one of the alcoves in the back of the restaurant. Here, the soft music could be heard more clearly despite the heavy damask drapes surrounding the booth. Clusters of thick white candles floated over the middle, where a round mirror charmed to banish dripping wax had been placed flat on the tabletop. The effect was that everything was suffused with the reflected golden glow. Heavy burgundy damask drapes surrounded them, giving privacy yet not interfering with the flow of music.

After Madam Remys had retreated to greet other customers, two house elves appeared, one bearing a basket of warm Fougasse and an ice bucket with a bottle of wine—the other with a crudite tray and a steaming platter of Bouchette Charcutiere.

"I hope you don't mind French," Snape said as he poured white wine into their glasses, "to save time, I took the liberty of ordering the entire meal when the reservation was made." He looked directly at Ron. "It also saves me from having to waste time translating the entire menu for you."

"Very efficient of you." Ron returned Snape's glance with a soft smile, then glanced around. "Funny, but I've never been here before."

"Of course you haven't," Snape replied after taking a sip. "First of all, this place is off limits to students; and second, Malfoy was probably the only one of the lot of you who could even afford it."

"Figures," Ron replied, taking a sip of his own wine, and making a face, "what is this?"

"Domaine du Mouton. Chardonnay. White wine, very dry." He held his glass up in the candlelight. "Isn't it about time you gave up butterbeer? This is an adult drink for an adult dinner and adult conversation. "

"Actually, I've always considered Firewhiskey to be an adult drink. Which brings us back to the subject of being here, in this place," Ron made an encompassing gesture with his hand, "you come here often? By yourself?"

"Of course I come here often. As I said, Madam Remys is a friend."

Ron made a little moue and lifted his chin, waiting for the rest.

"As for whether I come here by myself or not," Snape took another sip of wine, "that's none of your business."

Ron gave him a sly smile, "I'm just wondering about my competition, that's all. You can't blame me for asking, wanting to know how I measure up and all that."

"I can't tell you how you measure up, Mr Weasley," Snape responded softly, "after all, I haven't begun to ascertain the extent of our association as yet."

"Well then," Ron breathed, meeting Snape's gaze directly, "perhaps that's a dimension we both can explore."

They were trapped in one another's gaze for a moment, Ron's eyes briefly dropping to look at Snape's mouth, as a palpable heat rose heat between them. Then Snape looked down and away as he lifted his glass for another sip.

'_Abandon entouré d'abandon,   
tendresse touchant aux tendresses?  
C'est ton intérieur qui sans cesse  
se caresse, dirait-on;_

_se caresse en soi-même,  
par son propre reflet éclairé.   
Ainsi tu inventes le thème  
du Narcisse exaucé...'_

"And that music. . .it is very beautiful, but I don't understand. . ."

Snape once again fixed his eyes on his companion and his long, thin fingers skated over the stem of his wineglass as he spoke,

"_Abandon surrounding abandon,  
Tenderness touching tenderness?  
Your oneness endlessly  
Caresses itself, so they say;_

_Self-caressing  
Through its own clear reflection.  
Thus you invent the theme  
of Narcissus fulfilled._

It's from a poem by Rilke."

Ron put his glass down. "One of your favorites, then?"

"It was until recently," Snape replied, refilling their glasses and leaning in. "There seems to be a new verse rattling about in my head now."

"Really?"

"Yes.

'_You make me feel alone. I try imagining. One moment it is you, then it's the wind. Only you remain, always reborn again. For since I never held you, I hold you fast.'"_

Ron's mouth went dry at the thought of exactly what Snape might have tried imagining, and for an instant he held his breath.

"Please exhale and eat something, Weasley. I'll have to pay for it anyway."

"Oh," Ron said, taking bread, cheese and vegetables for himself.

"Those letters were interesting," Snape said matter-of-factly, in between bites, "the last two, I mean. I had no idea you were that creative."

"Well, I had some help from Harry."

"Harry. You let Harry help you write letters like those to me."

Ron blushed. "Well, we used to do something like that in Divination Class, we just made things up, sort of. Then added the other stuff, you know."

"You did something like this in Divination Class?" Snape asked. "You wrote erotic letters in Divination Class?"

"No!" Ron reddened further, "We made up stuff, predictions and like that for homework and tests. Trelawney was happy enough. We got our NEWTs."

"Funny that. A seer making up predictions."

"Well, you just don't know what her class was like, what with all of that stinking incense and Harry being doomed to die every week. Barmy bint, that."

Snape smiled behind his glass. "Language, Mr Weasley."

"You did say that this was an ADULT conversation, Severus—and please call me Ron. I know that you aren't exactly a fan of hers."

"Touche. But why did you stay in her class then. Divination is an elective course."

"The alternatives were Ancient Runes and Arithmancy—not exactly strong subjects for Harry and I." Ron took another fortifying sip of wine.

"And so Harry helped you write those."

"A bit. I've never written stuff like that in my life. I didn't even know how."

Snape sat back and folded his arms across his chest. "And Potter knew how."

"Yes. I mean no." Ron reddened. "I don't know. I mean he didn't really know either. We found something on the Muggle Internet that showed us how."

Snape quirked an eyebrow, clearly waiting for further explanation. Ron fidgeted under his regard as if he were still a schoolboy, and Snape felt something tighten in his chest.

"There's this software called 'Instant Sexy Letters,' and you just fill in the blanks. We got it right after we got the computer idea."

"Indeed."

At this, house elves reappeared, cleared the remains of the appetizers from the table, placed a fresh bottle of wine, a salad bowl, and platters bearing the entree and disappeared with a soft pop.

"Ah. If I hadn't been informed that those letters were pure fiction," Snape continued as he helped himself to salad, "I would have been highly impressed."

"Well, not all of it was exactly fiction." Ron took a forkful of roast duck and chewed slowly.

"Really? Pray tell, Mr Weasley."

"Here?"

"Here is as good a place as any."

"What if someone hears?"

Snape scooted around the curve of the booth until they were nearly shoulder to shoulder, and spoke softly as he reached out to catch some of the dripping candlewax in his palm, " I assure you that no one will hear except me. I've told you of Madame Remys' discretion."

"Well," Ron whispered while staring into his wineglass, "there was the one about my daydreams . . ."

"And?"

"That bit about me imagining us doing things to each other, that was real. I mean, really, it's not so difficult for me to think of things, seeing as I know. . . Then," Ron took a breath and turned to find that Snape had moved even closer, "there was the letter where I told you about the shower."

"Quite. That's the letter that set the verse loose in my head." He caught some wax on his long fingers.

"It is true that you've never held me, or I you." Ron reached down to where Snape's hand rested on the seat of the banquette and linked their fingers together. "But I want to. I want to so much it hurts sometime."

Snape felt a fiery thrill move up his arm, the sensation of so simple a touch stirring his very soul. For a moment, his entire universe was reduced to the feeling of Ron's hand in his.

"I was wondering," Ron continued, whispering, his eyes once again dropping to Snape's lips, "what you had tried imagining."

"Well, I have attempted to imagine you in that shower, that you called for me to join you there."

"As soon as you stepped in I would have you against the wall. I'd kiss you and touch you--everywhere," Ron reached up with his free hand and brushed Severus'cheek with the back of his knuckles. "I'd make love to you there with the water just pouring over us."

"That's the part that I just cannot imagine."

"Why?" Ron asked. "You are so sexy, incredible. All that stuff about you ruining my life is ridiculous. I want you so much that it's all I can think about. Why can't you imagine me loving you?"

"I don't care for dessert, " Severus said by way of answer as he put his napkin on the table, attempting to change the subject.

"I do," Ron murmured as he pulled his lover into his arms and kissed him.


End file.
